Refrigerate After Opening
by Nemu-saa
Summary: Another day, another father-son fight. And while Dean’s tired of playing peacemaker, this one seems more serious to his fifteen-year-old brother. But what if Sam wants something the Winchester family just can’t give? TeenChesters. Clean.
1. The Baseball

Title: Refrigerate After Opening

Rated: K+ (PG) for Family related Drama

Summary: Another day, another father-son fight. And while Dean's tired of playing peacemaker, this one seems more serious to his fifteen-year-old brother. But what if Sam wants something the Winchester family just can't give? TeenChesters. Clean.

Time Frame:About a year after the flashbacks in "After School Special" took place.

* * *

__

Thud!-snick-Thap!

Thud!-snick-Thap!

The dirty baseball hit the wall, ricocheted off the linoleum floor and smacked back into Dean's mechanical hold. Over, over…and over.

__

Thud!-snick-Thap!

It was like a metronome; each time he alternated from the thought _Why is Sam so pigheaded?_ to _Dad's completely oblivious_, the ball struck the wall, each time with added violence.

Two angry voices argued on an endless loop in Dean's peripheral thoughts.

"Don't you understand why I - why _we _do this, Sam? It's not about college or blue-collar jobs or society or friends! It's about making the world a safer -"

"What about what I want, Dad? What if I don't want to be a hunt -"

"Don't interrupt me!"

__

Thud!-snick-Thap!

Different day, same conversation. And Dean in the middle, trying to yell louder than both of them until all three lost their voices. At that point Dad would grab the keys and book, throwing Dean an automatic "Watch him." He wouldn't return till after dark.

Sam would go mope in some cob-webbed corner of whatever filthy motel they were currently staying in, while Dean sat down where the battle had taken place and mulled everyone's side of the story over till he came to the same old conclusion.

Sam: Stubborn

Dad: Stubborn

Dean: Tired

__

Thud!-snick-Thap!

Maybe it was time to invest in a new baseball.

This particular scream-off had begun when Sam got back from school, brandishing a permission form. He informed Dad that he'd been invited to join a special honors program at school.

It took off from there in typical Winchester style, but this time it'd been uglier than usual. They fought well into the afternoon, as a torrent of January sleet had started spattering the mildewed motel roof. Sam had been on one end of the living room where Dean now sat, Dad on the other. Dean winced at the memory.

"I've always wanted what's best for you two, you know that." Dad had said, taking on his all-worn-out tone. "But some things have to come _before _our _personal ideas,_" he went on, harsh again.

"This isn't just an idea, Dad. I need to do this honors program so I can get into a good college!"

"No, you don't. You're fine in school, and we can only stay in town three more days. That's final."

"_Fine _isn't all it takes!" Sam protested, frustration clamping on every word.

"_Sam…_"

"Dad, I'm barely making it in school!" He flung his arms out wide for emphasis. "The last _six _places, we only stayed a couple weeks. I can't catch up, I can't study, I'm gonna _fail_!"

"You're not going to fail. Just cool off!"

"I don't want this, Dad! I don't want it and Mom wouldn't have wanted it either."

John's eyes blazed. "Don't do that, Sammy. I am doing what's best for us. What your mother would've -"

"What," Sam shot back, "Mom would've wanted us to drop out of school? To never go to college, or have friends, just live in crap motels, and get _killed _fighting whatever monsters you decide to -"

"SHUT UP!" Dad bellowed so loud, Dean could've sworn he saw the light fixtures shake down dust. Sam flinched back and his arms tumbled to his sides. His mouth was stuck part way open, jaw still tense.

Dad's voice dropped low and he growled, "Just… get out."

"I'm sorry," Sam said suddenly. His eyes had gone wide, like a desperate five-year-old who's broken a vase and is sure he'll lose his parents' love for it.

"I'm leaving," John rumbled towards Dean like he hadn't heard. "Be back after dark."

"Dad, please -" Sam tried.

"Don't wait up." His big hand closed over the bunch of keys on the end table, and he stalked in the direction of the door.

"Dad, I'm - I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" Sam's voice got smaller with every word until he trailed off completely. Then he turned and flew out of the room. A heart-beat later, Dean heard the back porch door slam.

John was halfway out the room door. Dean had sprinted forward and caught his coat sleeve.

"Dad, wait -"

John shook him off harder than was necessary. "No, Dean. Not now."

"Dad, give him a chance… this honors thing - it's important to him, he's not thinking straight."

"Well, he'd better _get_ thinking straight!"

"Dad!"

"Just watch him," he barked and stormed out the doorway. Dean kicked it shut behind him.

__

Thud!-snick-Thap!

__

Thud!-snick-Thap!

__

THUD!-Bam!-bap -bap….bap

The last bang off the wall sent the baseball bouncing in all different directions until it rolled under the couch and Dean let his head clunk against the wall behind him, unable to muster enough enthusiasm to retrieve it. These inevitable fall-outs always triggered a pulsating turquoise light at the base of Dean's skull for which there was no painkiller

The room smelled like bananas. Probably some poor excuse for an air freshener. It was too cold to go outside so Dean toyed with the idea of opening a window until he heard the back door swing cautiously open. For a moment, he heard the amplified roar of wind. Then there was a soft click just as the chilling draft caught around his knees.

"Sam?"

There was an audible sigh from the hall but no answer. Fine. If he didn't want to talk, he didn't want to talk. It was going on five o'clock and dinner was sounding like much more fun anyway.

Dean groaned to his feet and turned toward the kitchen. What would it be today? he thought dryly. Mac n' cheese, crackers, or Mac n' cheese. Gosh, just so many choices. He stuck a hand in the top cupboard and rifled around. There was scarcely anything left. Dad always stopped stocking up a few days before their routine departure; an ominous reminder.

His hand came out with a half-empty box of Macaroni and he bent down to the cupboard under the sink to find a pot.

Would Sam be hungry yet? He banged the pots and pans around in the cupboard, hoping the kid would get it and show his nose. But after thirty seconds of no-show from Sam, he gave up and quit banging. He filled a brown-tinted saucepan with tap water and stuck it on the stove to boil.

The noise of slushy rain rose outside and Dean wandered to the window. Just visible beyond the trees was a widespread pile of rubble where the old motel had stood. It had collapsed due in part to poor engineering, and to a small tornado that had ripped through town years ago. There had been enough funds to rebuild, but not enough to clear old site. So there it sat, a pile of debris fifty yards from The Second Chance Road Stop. Dean wondered vaguely what the old building had been called.

And then he saw it. A figure dashing between the trees toward the ruins beyond.

Sam.

Dean ran to the back door, snatching his coat off the floor beside it, and rushed into the pelting sleet and wind. He ducked his head in the deluge and yanked his coat on as he ran, cursing Sam several times for picking _now_ to explore the stinkn' rubbish heap.

Sam was only just beginning his second growth spurt and Dean still had a good foot and half on him. His long strides had him at the edge of the junk heap in minutes.

Sam was nowhere in sight.

Dean turned his collar up and charged into the garbage. For about ten minutes he kicked boards over, pulled tin slats back, and checked behind sopping armchair carcasses and busted bed frames.

Then he spotted a huge, old-fashioned refrigerator. The side was scorched black (probably from some gas leak or propane explosion during the tornado) and the rest of the white was peppered with rust spots. The latch was broken.

On a hunch, Dean stumbled over some dining chair remains and crouched down before it. He gripped the cold, metal door with numbing fingers and heaved. It was heavy, but opened easily. And there, arms hugging tucked up knees, cheeks red, jaw taught and shivering, was Sam.

"Sammy, geez!" Dean groaned.

"Go away," Sam replied, his voice shaky but determined.

"What are you thinking, you moron?" Dean grabbed him by the arm just below the hem of his short sleeve and started pulling.

"No, Dean, no…"

"No phone, no note, you just take off and hide?" Sam struggled but there was nothing to grip in the shelf-less fridge and his much stronger brother simply hauled him out and sat him on a wet, plywood board.

Dean ran his hands down the sides of Sam's arms and sighed heavily. "For crying out loud, Sam, you're frozen solid. Why didn't you wear your coat?"

Sam clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering while Dean pulled his own coat off and slapped it around the stupid kid's shoulders.

"Forgot it," Sam rejoined stiffly.

"Yeah, smooth move, Kemosabe." Dean sat slowly on the stone remnants of a leveled chimney. His arms still stretched out to Sam, pulling the coat shut around him. He went on in a softer tone, "What are you doing out here?"

Sam seemed to consider that. "Hiding," he said and blew a little embarrassed puff of air out his nose. He rubbed the back of his wrist under his red, runny nose.

"Why - ? Oh, you mean the fight? Come on, Sam, it wasn't that bad…" he shot Dean his best incredulous look. "Well… and anyway, what good is hiding gonna do?"

Sam looked away, from the open refrigerator, around the drenched debris clearing, then at his own hands. "I can't… Dean, I did something really, _really _bad."

Dean shook his head. "You both said stuff you didn't mean, you'll simmer down and -"

"No, it's … not that. Dean, I lost something - something of Dad's, he'll _never _forgive me," Sam's voice rose urgently. "He's gonna kill me when he finds out."

Dean ducked his head, trying to catch Sam's eyes. "Sammy, I can't remember the last time Dad killed someone who wasn't possessed, packing, or already dead."

Sam raked ten fingers through his damp mass of sandy-brown hair. "You know what I mean."

"Not really," he bent forward seriously. "C'mon, what'd you lose?"

Sam's eyes finally came up to meet his. They were dark with panic. "Mom's engagement ring. I… dropped it down the sink."

Dean's mouth opened a little. He leaned back again, rubbing the nape of his neck with one freezing hand and studied his brother for a moment. "It's okay," He said at last in a voice purposefully light. "It's fine, Sam, no big deal."

Sam's eyes widened. "How can you say that? Of _course _it's a big deal! Dad loves that ring, Dean, it's one of the only things of Mom's we had and I _lost _it! We'll never -"

"It's _no big deal_," Dean half yelled over top of him, then quieted when he broke off. "Because we can get it back."

Sam's shoulders dropped. "Huh?"

"Yeah, we'll go back to the room, disconnect the pipe from the wall under the sink and…" He spread his hands and shrugged with a "voila" look.

For a moment, the younger Winchester seemed lost for words. Then he started shaking his head violently. "No, I can't - go back to the motel…"

"Yeah, you can, come on." Dean stood up and dragged Sam to his feet next to him.

"No! No, wait -" Sam tried uselessly to push his hand off. "I don't… don't want to be there when Dad gets home, Dean _let go_!"

"Sam!" Dean stooped to his eye level and said earnestly, "It's okay, you don't have to be afraid to go home."

Sam looked affronted. "I'm not _afraid_."

"Alright then. Let's go." Sam's response was stony silence. "Unless… there's some other reason why -"

"No." Dean waited a moment, watching Sam's face. It fell slowly, resignedly. "Fine," he said quietly, and without looking at Dean, he trudged off through the debris.

The journey back to the house was a soundless one, save the constant spray of icy rain. Sam watched his shoes and tried to stop shivering. He heard Dean's crushing footfalls, never more than a yard behind him. Incorrigible nuisance. Well, there was nothing for it now.

Sam let his brother get ahead of him to open the door and pound the mud off his shoes onto the welcome mat inside. Sam followed and shrugged off Dean's coat. He hung it loosely on the hook by the door.

"Okay," Dean said, we-can-handle-this voice on. "Dad usually puts his tools under his bed. I'll get that, you go lay a towel down under the sink."

"Got it."

Sam made his way through the kitchen area and stopped. His coat was lying on the linoleum. Once Dean had slipped into their dad's room, he scooped the coat up and stuffed it onto the small kitchen counter for easy access. He examined it a moment, and grabbed an apple off the top of the microwave, setting it on the counter, too.

Then he hurried to the bathroom and threw down a towel just as Dean walked in, twirling a wrench in one hand.

"Alright, let's pop the hood, shall we?"

Sam faked a hopeful smile and stood back in the corner.

Dean didn't have the proper tools for this job and had never so much as glimpsed a plumber performing the task of disconnecting a sink, but he rarely gave such things anymore forethought than "How hard could it be? I've killed _ghosts_…" A fact which had no baring whatsoever on household repair.

"Right, so we'll just yank this thing-a-muh-who-sit off and…. There! Twist the screw… hm… hey Sam, check and see dad has a screwdriv -" Dean looked over his shoulder. "-er."

Sam was gone.

* * *

_To Be Continued...._


	2. The Apple

Thank you to everyone who's been reading! This story is only a two-shot, I'm afraid, but I hope you enjoy! Here's the last of it. :)

* * *

Sam snatched his coat and the apple off the counter as he ran. He flew through the living room, eyes falling briefly on the closet that contained his rain boots. But there was no time. His hand smacked down on the backdoor knob and he wrenched it to the right… then back. It barely twisted.

Sam peered in the crack between door and doorjamb. The deadbolt was locked. It was then that he saw the yellow post it note, just above the knob. On it was neatly scrawled two words:

TURN AROUND

Slowly, rigidly, Sam pivoted on his heels 180 degrees.

Dean was leaning against the kitchen doorjamb, arms crossed and face set. "Dude, how dense do you think I am?" he said calmly.

Sam's hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. "You knew." Dean's eyebrows went up and he tilted his head in the affirmative. "How."

"Because I'm cunningly brilliant. And you suck at lying."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Do not." He hugged his coat a little closer. "So… what?"

"'I _dropped _it down the _sink'_, Sam? Come on." Dean cracked a mirthless smile. "You have your Hunsinger moments, but not with something like that. Am I right?"

Sam hesitated, but finally, he dropped Dean's gaze to reach in his pocket. In a moment, the hand came out with a simple but beautiful white-gold ring that flashed and sparkled between his thumb and forefinger.

Dean shifted his weight so he was upright, but he didn't try to take it.

"I just wanted something," Sam muttered, not looking at him. "Of hers… I don't remember -" he stopped suddenly, and when he looked up, Dean saw the blaze of frustration was back. "I'd 'a brought my coat but you were in the kitchen - then, outside, I heard you coming so I hid in the fridge." He shoved the ring back in his pocket. "Doesn't matter. You can't stop me, Dean."

"Wanna bet?"

"I can't be here anymore!"

"Well, you're not leaving."

"So, what, you're just gonna lock me in here? Some kind of flippin' _intervention_?"

"Watch it, Sam."

"No, I'm sick of this!" he flung his jacket at the floor and the apple bounced and rolled under the couch to join Dean's baseball. "You and Dad. It's like - you just wanna kill everything in sight, dig up graves, burn bones, shooting, and stabbing and … I don't even know, it's like you _enjoy _it or something!"

"Sure, so I guess that gives you the right to just take off!" Dean shouted. Sam took a step back and bumped into the locked door. "What were you gonna do, Sammy? Live on the road, or just set up shop in a refrigerator?"

"I would've figured something out," he shot back. "I'm not stupid! I can take care of myself -"

"No, you can't! You've been on all of four hunts, you have no idea."

"Thirteen."

Dean stopped. "What?"

"I've been on thirteen, counting the werewolf at Sap Creek Lodge three weeks ago." Sam advanced several steps, a new forest fire spreading. "The one that slashed Dad across the face, remember? And then there was the - the poltergeist in the gym locker at Collins Brooke High that threw you out the second story window an' we had to go to the hospital, and there was the cave demon in Ohio when -"

"Yeah, I get it! Life is hard, people get hurt."

"Not just people, Dean, you and Dad!"

"_You _never got a scratch, he always makes sure of that."

"It hurts every time!"

"Oh, boohoo, let's all have a big group hug and cry about how much it stinks being us. We're saving the _world_, Sam!"

"_I don't care!_ You don't get it, Dean, I barely sleep anymore and when I do, it's nightmares. I never know if you and Dad will come back after a hunt and when I go along, I'm so freaked out I puke my guts when you're not looking. This isn't a life, Dean, it's a horror movie! I have to get out of here, I don't _want _it!"

"Because you want to go to school? Be a lawyer, be a doctor, a cashier, a clown, anything but us, right?" He jabbed a finger at the floor. "Let me tell you something, you are _never _going to do anything bigger than this, Sam."

"I don't want 'bigger' I want NORMAL!"

Something went off like a firecracker in Dean's head. All the exasperating attempts to break up his family's verbal wrestling matches, his pent up irritation at Dad, and the throbbing turquoise light in his head. Normal? Dream on. They couldn't have it, and that made him angry. Angry because it was impossible, angry because _he _wanted it, and furious because, more than anything else in the world, he wanted Sam to have it and couldn't give it to him.

Rage boiled up in front of his eyes, like the red side of 3D glasses. Before he knew it, he'd covered the distance between them, grabbed two fistfuls of Sam's blue-plaid shirt shook him. Sam's mouth froze partway open.

"SO WHAT?!" Dean roared. "This is something worth doing, worth _fighting _for and it's hard, and it's dangerous, and yeah, it _hurts_. But Sammy the minute you walk out on your _family_, there is nothing left worth fighting for! Whatever you believed in was just crap if you give up that easy." He shook him harder. "You wanna blame Dad for all your problems, well too bad! None of us want it to be this way but you better get used to it cause this is the _way it is_!"

And as fast as he had blazed up, Dean suddenly dwindled and went out.

Sam was crying.

Something Dean hadn't seen him do since that Christmas Eve in Nebraska.

The red haze evaporated from his vision. His hands turned to petrified wood and slipped from Sam's shirtfront. The moment he was free, Sam shoved him in the chest with just enough unexpected force to land him on the floor. Dean, a little startled, sat watching during a split second while Sam impatiently smashed all his fingers into his face, trying to clear the tears away.

Dean got up on his knees and, uncertainly, reached a hand out to Sam's shoulder.

Sam smacked it away and shoved him again, but Dean didn't go all the way down.

"Sam, Sammy -"

"No, _shut up_! No… "

He made a more determined grab at his brother, and Sam struck him in the shoulder. This time, however, there was no passion behind it. Again, he pounded a limp fist at Dean's side, another at his stomach. The tears streamed and Sam started to smack and hit every inch he could reach with floppy, hysterical blows.

Dean locked his fingers around Sam's upper arms and pulled him closer till he didn't have elbowroom enough to fight anymore.

"Shh, Sam, it's okay - it's okay…" Dean heard himself repeating insistently and he wondered how long he'd been doing that.

Sam's knees gave and he cried fiercely into Dean's already wet shirtsleeve. The last of the struggle started to drain out of him. Dean remained awkwardly half crouched, half sitting and wrapped mostly around Sam's back just holding him off the floor.

He could still hear his own voice muttering softly. He wasn't sure what was coming out, but it was probably something calm, reassuring and utterly useless.

Outside, it was nearly dark and the sludge-rain sounded like static on a TV turned up too loud.

Normal… how many times would they have this argument before one of them realized a simple fact: they were in the same boat. Dean knew it. He couldn't keep pretending that if he had the choice of any occupation in the world, he would choose this. He wouldn't. Of course he wouldn't, who would? Not even Dad wanted this life, it was forced on him! And now it was being forced on them. These two sorry excuses for soldiers, in this smelly motel room, wishing they could be anywhere but here.

But how could he explain that to Sam? There wasn't an easy way to say, "Hey, guess what, I hate our lives, too, want a beer?" because he needed to be the grown up for both of them. He didn't feel grown up. But every day he hoped he looked just convincing enough to put one over on Sam. In the end, that was how they survived it.

Twenty minutes went by without a word said. Sam ran out of tears around when Dean ran out of consoling things to say. They wound up with their backs against the door, Dean's right elbow resting carelessly on Sam's left shoulder, and Sam resting his wrists on partly-bent knees, staring absently at the floor. Now and again, he'd sniff and let out a broken sigh of air.

The stupid hidden air freshener was wreaking of bananas more than ever.

"I guess…" Sam said into the stillness, his voice oddly deep. "It was dumb… _idiotic _actually - thinking I could just…" he huffed loudly. "I should'na tried to run away," he finished quickly. "It was stupid." Dean inclined his head just slightly. A pause. "An' I wish I - I hadn't said… what I said to Dad."

"Yeah, a little of that could've gone Helen Keller… but Sam, I get it, you know?" Sam looked at him dubiously. "Alright, maybe not the whole school-college… nerds-rule-and-hunters-drool thing…" Sam almost breathed a smile and Dean's confidence sparked. "But _normal_… yeah… I get that."

Sam just nodded. "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah."

"If… if you knew what I was - planning…why the show? I mean, with the sink and everything."

Dean thought about it, then shrugged. "Guess I wanted to give you a chance."

Sam's squinted. "Chance?"

"To change your mind." Sam looked away guiltily. "Look, Sam, I'm not mad." Another doubtful sideways-look. Dean laughed quietly. "Yeah, I know…funny way of showing it, but uh… but I'm really not. Maybe someday, you're gonna leave and I won't be able to stop you." Sam's brow furrowed into a pained crease. "And I won't try," Dean went on. "Just promise me one thing."

"What?"

"Tell me first. If you ever leave, Sam, you tell me. Promise?"

Sam looked confused for a moment, but then, slowly, he nodded. "Promise."

Dean nodded back. "Good!" he continued, brightly. "Now take about a gallon of cough medicine and go to bed."

Sam took the bait gladly. "Wha - I'm not sick!"

"We're gearing up for the climax, Sammy. 'Case you don't remember running out in an ice storm without a coat…"

"I was barely out fifteen min -"

"You're just setting up for a bigger nose-dive, which is you in bed for the next week if you don't go swig it now."

"You're so weird."

"Yeah, and if _you _didn't go around opening worm-cans, maybe you wouldn't wind up in refrigerators in negative ninety-degree weather." The back of his hand bounced off Sam's shoulder. "Bed."

Sam just smiled wanly and got steadily to his feet. Dean noticed him drop something on the floor close by as he stood. Soft footsteps carried him to the door of their bedroom. He paused in the doorway and said, "Night, Dean."

"Night."

And he disappeared into the dark room.

Dean glanced down at the floor space Sam had vacated. Something was sparkling there. He pinched Mom's engagement ring between his fingers and held it up to the light. For a long moment his mind was full of blessed nothing. Then he slipped the ring in his pocket and dug the TV remote out from between the couch cushions.

Hopefully something besides _Days of Our Lives_ would be on at nine o'clock.

* * *

Dean woke up with his face squashed into the wrong end of the bed. He lay there for about ten minutes, wondering what had woken him.

He could feel Sam's weight on the other end of the bed and hear him breathing steadily, still asleep. He hadn't heard the door slam, so Dad either wasn't back or he'd come in quietly sometime during the night. Then he had it. For the first time in three-and-a-half weeks they'd stayed at the Second Chance motel, the room didn't smell like old bananas. Had the air-freshener finally run out of juice? Oh, miracle of miracles!

As long as he was up, Dean decided to go see if the rain had stopped. He slipped his socked-feet out of the bed and tip-toed into the kitchen.

He stopped suddenly. There were cereal boxes on the counter. Cheerios, Corn Flakes, Lucky Charms… all knock-offs of course. He opened up the cupboard to reveal peanut butter, bread, canned soup, and off-brand Oreos.

Dean's eyes flitted around the kitchen and came to rest on a sheet of motel stationary tucked partway under the cereal boxes. Dad's handwriting was scrawled, loopy and hasty, over half of it.

__

Dean,

Got a tip from Caleb West about a hot-spot about twenty miles outside Nashville. Plan to be back in a couple weeks, but just in case, the room's paid through four. Food's in the cupboard, borrowed Jim's car so the Impala keys are on the end table, and there's a couple hundred in the lockbox. If you or Sam need anything, call my cell or Jim's.

Take care.

Dad

p.s. Found an air freshener behind the toilet and chucked it. Pick up some Lysol next time you're out.

"Hm…" Dean smiled. "How bout' that."

All of a sudden, Sam cam tearing out of the bedroom, waving a sheet of slightly crumpled paper above his head.

"He signed it! Dean, he signed it!"

"Ugh, Sam, turn it down a notch," Dean complained, twisting a finger in his ear. "Who did what?"

"Dad! He signed the permission form for the honors program." Sam beamed up at him. But then, immediately, the smile faded. "I - I wish I could… tell him I was sor -"

"He knows," Dean cut him off and the smile returned. "So… breakfast?"

Sam spotted the food-laden counter and shook his head wonderingly. "Dude…"

"I know," he nodded. "When was the last time _Dad _went shopping?"

Sam sat down at the rickety kitchen table, holding the permission form by the corners as though he was afraid of getting fingerprints on it.

Dean retrieved a jug of 2% from the fridge and a couple of bowls and the generic Oreos from the cupboard. He grinned. "Soup's on, Sammy."

Neither noticed when, outside, the hammering rain abruptly stopped.

----------------------------------------------- The End------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you again and merry Christmas!


End file.
